


First attempt

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which I upload general angst in an attempt to become an actual writer, or,  the one where John isn't actually stupid, but Sherlock may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First attempt

The thing that no one had ever bothered to mention about love, was that it was a singularly unpleasant experience. When newly-wedded couples looked at each other, dewy-eyed and adoring, and spilled out story after story of fluttering hearts and shy kisses- Homer’s Odysseus had never faced any trial on his journey so perilous as that of a first date- they conveniently leave out the bits where your heart feels like it was flash fried and dropped into your stomach, where you feel like there’s finally a problem you can’t solve and maybe it wasn’t what you wanted, after all.

And nothing, nothing, prepares you for the way that that one smile, the one where he cocks his head slightly to the left and quirks his lips upwards, makes you feel (impossibly) like if you walked out the window you could just keep going, like you could fly because he thinks you could.

It. Has. To. Stop.

But that doesn’t work, so instead you just... not squash it, no, but cover it up, lock it in a box and toss it in the corner and act like it never existed and it's not hard. People expect you to be weird, they find it familiar and encourage it because it’s a universal truth, the kind carved in stone: Sherlock Holmes = freak, with a mathematical precision. So when you avoid him a tad bit more, sleep a tad bit less, and only remember to eat because you pass out once or twice, no one notices. In the movies and the books, there was always a great difficulty with hiding emotions, but here there isn’t. It’s just a matter of averting attention, of not looking too long and never, ever touching. And it’s all so easy, because people look, they see, but they don’t observe, and so there’s a sick sort of triumph, because anyone can kill a man but to conquer love itself, now that was a feat!

(Except, except that John still comes back to the flat smelling like Channel No. 9 and looking oddly sated and your massive brain is completely unnecessary because the answer to that particular problem is obvious, and soon there’ll be a day where John returning to the flat won’t be returning anymore, it’ll be visiting and when he’s returning it’ll be to long brown hair and expressive eyes and you don’t want to think about that.)

But John is a soldier, and he fights back even when he doesn’t realize it, and the box rattles and shakes in the shadows. It’s getting harder to face the fact he’ll leave and you’ll be alone. You don’t like that he smiles at other people, even less when they make him laugh, and it’s then you realize what this is, exactly what it is in all its terrible glory. Despite anonymous meetings and clinics and nicotine patches, you’ve managed to get yourself addicted yet again, and if there’s one thing you know to avoid, it’s addictions, and here is where you stop repressing and start panicking. Eating, when you need it, can be done on the move or in town, clothes can be changed in a matter of seconds (and then, back out you go before he gets on break), and sleeping, well, sleeping is overrated, and dreams just can’t be bothered to make sense, and-

(dreams of sweat and saliva, of hot skin and discarded jumpers and-)

-and so, you just keep going and going and going-

(Round and round the garden like a teddy bear, you think to yourself as exhaustion overcomes mental capability.)

-until you can’t anymore, and maybe it wouldn’t be this bad if you had a case, one good case, but people are being unmercifully civil to each other at just the time you need them to be their most brutal, and so you close your eyes- just for a moment!- and when you open them John’s looking back at you, on the couch where you collapsed, top buttons of your shirt undone and pants having vanished into whatever realm it is that laundry disappears to when you try to find something. His mouth is pressed into a hard line and his eyes are concerned, and for one odd moment you feel like a dog who just bit his master.

He asks you where you’ve been, and you say everywhere because it’s true enough. You’ve been everywhere that he hasn’t, in all the places you can trust not to remind you of him. He sighs, ever so slightly, and says that you should get a bath and get dressed, that he’ll order out from the Chinese place where you can almost guess the fortunes and all of a sudden you’re angry. You don’t raise your voice, you don’t sneer, you just tell him, addressing him as “doctor”, that his diagnosis is wasted, that his help is unwarranted.

And he looks at you. Just looks. But he has the oddest expression on his face, and you’ve memorized microexpressions for every emotion, but you still don’t know what this is. He just looks, and then makes a strangled sound somewhere in the back of his throat, and then he kisses you.

Kisses you? No, surely you’ve gotten it wrong, none of the data points to this being a realistic- never mind probable- scenario, but there his is, flush against you, lips on yours and hands in your hair, pulling you down to him.

For a brief moment, the shock passes and your anger returns, doubled in intensity. How dare he, how dare he, bring the love back to life, that which was to be the pinnacle of your conquests, an trophy among trophies. How dare he ruin all your work, all the defenses and traps set, and all in a single moment?

But then, he sighs into your lips and tilts his head slightly to the left, never breaking contact, and maybe learning how to fight was never anywhere near as important as learning to surrender.


End file.
